In Memoriam
by madwomanwithakeyboard
Summary: Five months have passed since the Great Thaw, and Elsa has some unfinished business to attend to. One-shot.


An icy wind rolled in off the coast, and rain fell in deceptively light drizzle that soaked one through more than one might think. The sea was wild that morning - no ship was safe from its waves. Walking down the windswept coastline, braving the elements, was a striking figure dressed head to foot in black. She walked with her head bent low, a gloved hand shielding her eyes and the long skirts of her dress flapping around in the gale. She had really ought to turn back, but she battled on.

Nobody, she thought to herself, could possibly expect the queen of the land to be out in this weather.

It was five months, almost to the day, since the Great Thaw of Arendelle. The kingdom had more or less recovered and - to Elsa's continuing surprise - had accepted her as one of their most popular monarchs to date. She was a quietly dignified leader, and her stoicism and level head made her the perfect person to look to in a crisis. Elsa liked that she'd gotten this reputation for herself but, really, she still saw herself as that frightened little girl, hiding away in her room. In all honesty, she still did isolate herself a lot when the stress became too much to bear. But life was better now. She had a more rational worldview, more confidence in her own abilities, and a grip on her powers. And she had Anna.

Even now, as she battled through the storm, Elsa smiled at the thought of her younger sister, who continued to amaze her every day. Anybody else, Elsa realised, would never speak to her again after the way I isolated them. But not Anna. Anna was naturally, irrepressibly loving and she never blamed Elsa for the years of isolation. In fact, it was Anna who had led to Elsa being here, on the coast. She turned a corner and started up a hill as she remembered.

Anna had been standing in one of the hallways, tears slipping slowly down her face as she stared at a painting. Elsa had immediately rushed to help - if Anna was that upset it must be something serious. Elsa realised, as she got closer, that the painting was of their parents. She didn't even need Anna to turn around, slowly, and whisper it's today. The anniversary of their parents' memorial service. It wasn't really a funeral, since their bodies had never been recovered, but one crucial fact remained - Elsa had not gone. She had been in her room, paralysed with grief and fear. She had not been there to say her goodbyes, or to support Anna. She pulled her sister close and they hugged for a while, Anna's sobbing being the only sound either of them made. Elsa, too, was crying. She would go and pay her respects tomorrow.

In the early hours of the morning, Elsa had awoken. She had dressed in a long, black mourning gown that buttoned all the way up to the neck and whose skirt was held out wide by a large petticoat. It was a bulky, heavy dress, but Elsa felt it was suitably sombre for the occasion. It had a certain presence about it. She wore nothing on her head - one look out at the wind decided that - but tied her bright white hair (a startling contrast to the darkness of her outfit) back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Since the Thaw she had taken to wearing it in a practical but comfortable plait, and it was odd to tie it up so tight again. She thought of a snake trying to slip into the skin it had long since shed.

Hair sufficiently tamed - and the flyaway strands frosted with ice for good measure -Elsa retrieved a box that she and Anna had symbolically stuffed as far back into her wardrobe as it would go: it was full of pairs of gloves. She selected a pair of black velvet ones, some of the thickest she owned, and put them on. They seemed almost laughably too thick and constricting to her now - she couldn't imagine wearing them all the time as she once had. And once she had done that, she walked out. No guards questioned it - from the mourning garb and the time of year, it was reasonable to assume they'd put the pieces together.

The walk had been arduous but, again, Elsa felt that this was somehow fitting. And as she arrived at the two enormous headstones, she very nearly turned on her heel and ran away. It was every bit as painful as she had been anticipating. Those big, imposing lumps of rock were all there was to show that her parents has ever lived. Her beautiful mother, whom she was so often told she resembled. Her lovely father, who always did his utmost to help her control the curse. She looked down at her gloves through teary eyes - she had had these since he was alive. He'd probably given them to her. Elsa suddenly realised that she'd brought nothing to put on the graves, and instantly burned with guilt. She looked around - there were no flowers to be seen. She stepped forward towards her father's headstone, removed a glove, and placed her hand flat on the cold, wet rock. Frost blossomed from her fingertips before she had a chance to stop it, and she very nearly panicked and put her glove back on. But that was the old Elsa, the one who was afraid of her powers. She was better than this now.

The wind began to subside, and the rain slowly stopped. Elsa decided to place the removed glove on the ground beneath the headstone. Look Daddy, she whispered, I don't need these any more. I hope you would be proud of me. The then took off her other glove, walked over to her mother's grave, and did the same thing. Then she walked back and looked at both headstones again, at the piece of herself placed by each one. Then, after a moment of silence, Elsa turned and walked back down the hill, back home. Behind her, the sun rose above the clouds.


End file.
